


He Runs From Love

by TrekkieSlut



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Broken Families, Character Death, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dystopia, Father-Daughter Relationship, Five Year Mission, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Bones, Hurt Spock, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Missions Gone Wrong, Original Character Death(s), Past Relationship(s), Post-Mission, Romulans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-23
Updated: 2015-09-23
Packaged: 2018-04-23 00:57:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4857113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrekkieSlut/pseuds/TrekkieSlut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spock and McCoy find solace together following a disastrous mission, and end up digging up the past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Runs From Love

**Author's Note:**

> This is more of a Bones character study built into a story than anything, and looking into what a more tender interaction between him and Spock could be like. Because Leonard McCoy is a beautiful cinnamon roll and I love him and he needs to be LOVED.
> 
> Also another note, the name ‘Lalage’ is pronounce ‘la-la-gay’. It’s a name that I picked up studying Latin poetry one time. It means ‘laughter’ and it sounds kind of awkward but I’ve been wanting to use the name somehow.
> 
> EDIT (25/09/15) - made a few minor edits which hopefully will make some parts clearer and easier to read.

All that Spock could churn up in his recent memory when he came to was a blur of lights and dust and flame, mixed with the voices of medical crew and - most distinctly - Doctor McCoy’s cursing.

 

He couldn’t recall what the target of Leonard’s frustration and panic had been until he tried to raise his arms from the bed. The circumstances of his injury seeped back into his mind as the effects of the anaesthesia slowly dripped out of him. He began a mental checklist, taking note of what was present that should be and shouldn’t be, what was missing and should be-

 

But of course. The girl…she-

 

McCoy must have noted his body language instantly - the confused, searching gaze.

 

“She was dead in your arms, Spock. There was nothing I could do…or you could do. It isn’t anyone’s fault.”

 

Spock kept his arms by his side, remaining still in his acceptance of the circumstances, and regarded the Doctor with his one good eye.

 

Leonard deliberately avoided Spock’s gaze, unwilling to allow the bandages and bruising from the muscle-regeneration procedure to remind him of the Vulcan’s ordeal. The human reluctantly admitted to himself that he was fragile at present. He occupied himself with preparing the analgesic hypo for Spock’s morning dose.

 

Finally he met Spock’s eye, which reassured him of how full of life the Vulcan was, almost wiping away any memories of the hours previous when he was convinced Spock would breathe his last. The gauze covering Spock’s right eye protected the delicate, newly healed skin, and could probably be replaced with a temporary patch once he had an opportunity to go into a trance overnight. He had done everything to the best of his ability, ignoring his peaking fatigue and stress, for his Vulcan companion and the panic was now over.

 

Spock was not at all convinced by McCoy’s calm facade, and he knew that his expression made that clear to Leonard. Leonard was inept at hiding his human emotionalism, and that was unlikely to ever change. Spock watched as he turned to walk out of the room, almost as though silently admitting defeat. Spock opened his dry mouth to speak.

 

“I, too, regret that I did not save the child.”

 

Bones paused at the doors as they hissed open, and he keyed in the privacy code.

 

“Go to sleep, Spock.”

 

“Leonard…” His voice was distinctly rough. “I understand how much she reminded you of Joanna.”

 

Bones was gone.

 

Spock thought no more of it - the emotional consequences of his admission to the doctor were not worth pondering, from his experience. Instead he croaked out a command to lower the lights to 5%, a level reminiscent of the glow of his meditation lamps. Lacking only the swirl of smoke and sweet odour from his incense, he raised his sore arms to steeple his fingers over his chest and coaxed his mind into a healing trance.

 

XXXX

 

Leonard McCoy was having no such luck in his cabin. As soon as he walked in the door he downed a cup of water and wrenched off his scrub top before making a beeline for his bunk. He lay on his side, consciously steadying his breathing over a period of some minutes before he mustered up the energy to pull off his boots and order the lights down.

 

Accompanied only by the dark and his shallow breaths, he tried to put the events of the past day, or even the past week, out of his mind. When the Enterprise pulled into orbit around the ill-fated Anthua IV he knew only very sketchy details on the position of the human colony below.

 

This particular planet was as close to the neutral zone that the Federation was willing to risk establishing a colony on, given that accessibility was low and exposure to Romulan threat was high. Predictably, the colonists were more or less exclusively impoverished and desperate. Some of them were escapees from Tarsus IV, a topic which he knew brought back horrible memories for the Captain, so the doctor may have been off his guard whilst looking out for Jim. Most were families of miners, some of whose children struggled on alone whilst both parents were off-planet on distant asteroids. It was a disgustingly low-paid job considering the constant peril of labouring in the asteroid belts, Bones remembered thinking.

 

Given its proximity to the neutral zone, it was unsurprising when rumours arose that something nefarious had been going on underground in the Anthuan colony. Reports surfaced that deals were being done with Romulans by an unknown criminal organisation. The Enterprise was sent in with the cover of being there to deliver supplies, but also to investigate the rumours. Jim had been irritable and sleepless over the mission, as he always got when challenged with being undercover, running the risk of the Romulans targeting the settlers if they suspected that civilians had leaked intel to Starfleet. Leonard thought he would lose his voice barking at Jim that coffee couldn’t make up for lack of rest.

 

The children of the settlement concerned Leonard the most. Many were visibly undernourished and their immune systems were suffering for it. A healthy human being could handle the crystal dust and other irritants that were constantly in the atmosphere of a town where freshly mined resources were being processed, but it was no place for those in poor health. Lying on his bunk in the dark with his hands crossed over his chest, the cacophony of coughs and struggling lungs still filled his ears.

 

As he had busied himself organising a medical team to provide aid and putting in long-term measures for curing the ailments of those afflicted, one particular case caused him considerable concern and interest. She was a whippet of a child, maybe eight or ten, clearly allergic to the dust and general environs on top of everything else. Her two older siblings were doing their best but were far from able to care for her themselves, so she remained weak and bed-ridden. Leonard had taken it upon himself to personally deliver her care.

 

“Are you a doctor?” she had rasped at him. Wearily, he’d nodded, and she wheezed, raising a small hand to point at her bedside table.

 

Amongst various dusty trinkets were half a dozen empty bottles of a cheap nasal spray - completely ineffective, Leonard recognised it, basically glorified spring-water. Grimacing, he retrieved a medicated nasal decongestant from his bag and tried to apply it, but she stubbornly batted him away. Tired and recognising when it was necessary to give in and placate a child, sparking memories of Jo, he fetched her a bottle of the cheap shop-brand spray as a placebo.

 

It did the job and calmed her down enough for him to treat her properly. She clutched the spray in her hand, sniffing occasionally but happier, and her eyes glimmered at him in appreciation. She refused to put it down, as though it were a favourite doll.

 

Once past that barrier, the issue of administering hypoallergenic injections came. Spock was also on the scene with a science team, examining the atmosphere and ruling out the possibility that any of the dust in the air was particularly sinister. Samples from the walls in major structures and the throats of the colonists were required.

 

“Not a good time, Spock,” he said when the Vulcan had walked in on him preparing hypos while the child watched, apparently paralysed with fear. However, when she saw Spock and proceeded to stare, owl-like, with fascination, Leonard concluded that it perhaps was a good time. This could prove interesting.

 

“Aren’t you a Romulan?” she asked in a small and frightened but clear voice. Her lungs were clearer and staying that way, thanks to Doctor McCoy’s intervention, but not much better compared to other colonists.

 

Smart, she’s been listening to her surroundings, Leonard thought.

 

To the doctor’s amusement, Spock looked very put-out. “No.”

 

She sniffed and frowned, dissatisfied with his clipped answer.

 

“What are you, then?” she asked bluntly.

 

Remaining unimpressed, Spock removed a packaged sterile swab from the packet he carried and began labelling it. “I am Spock. Your name, please.”

 

“What’s a Spock?” she countered mischievously.

 

“Come now, Spock, that’s no way to address a child,” Bones tittered, gently tapping the hypo he’d just prepared. “Lalage, Mr. Spock is a Vulcan. Vulcans share a common ancestor with Romulans, the difference is that Romulans were wise enough to high-tail it out of there when Surak raised his ugly head spouting the tyranny of logic to the masses. Isn’t that right, Spock?”

 

“I opt not to comment.”

 

“You see? Now he’s as cold as stone but he wouldn’t hurt a fly, I promise you. He’s just here to collect samples so that we can help people.” Leonard set the last hypo down on the tray and looked up at Spock, who gave him a piercing look.

 

“I like him,” Lalage finally said. She turned back towards the doctor and upon seeing the tray of hypos, lurched away from him with an ear-ringing screech.

 

Leonard hushed her but she continued to panic, backing against the wall. He shot a pleading look at Spock, who audibly sighed, moving closer and setting his tricorder down. Lalage looked over at him nervously, her face red with tears, sniffing as she watched him lay down the packaged swab, a small spray and two microscope slides on an empty tray. “No,” she protested weakly, “don’t hurt me.”

 

“He will not hurt you.” Spock’s deep voice was surprisingly soft and gentle. “The doctor often provides me with medical aid via hypo also, to little ill effect.”

 

The child looked incredulous. “Little?”

 

“They cause me abdominal discomfort,” Spock clarified, removing the swab carefully from the sterile packaging so as to not contaminate it. “But that is because I am not human, for whom the medication is optimised. I require a sample from the back of your throat for examination. Please open your mouth.”

 

Leonard was surprised when the girl obeyed without hesitation, pausing after the second hypo which he had applied undetected, so as not to alarm her and cause her to choke whilst Spock was working. Spock inserted the thin stick with little hesitation, concentration written all over his profile. Removing it, he quickly rolled it upon one slide and carefully placed the second one on top, retrieving a sealed container with grooves designed for slotting each set of slides in neatly. Lalage watched in fascination, and the room was silent as the doctor completed his injections.

 

“I like your ears,” she finally said. “Are you finished?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“And so am I. Wasn’t so bad now, was it?”

 

Leonard looked up at Spock as Lalage fussed with her arm, and the Vulcan raised a curious eyebrow at him. He merely smirked, feeling enlightened, somewhat.

 

In the dark of his room, he sighed and rolled onto his back. Though her gaunt figure was frightening in a strange way, etched into his mind’s eye, her manner was too familiar, he should have noticed the paternal connection he was experiencing and distanced himself immediately. If not physically, definitely emotionally.

 

And Spock - he had no idea how Spock was processing it all. He had only seen Spock interact directly with a child once before. And when he’d seen the way Spock had effortlessly and purposefully distracted her whilst he worked…

 

It was touching, to be frank.

 

He gradually dozed off, thinking of Jo and trying not to allow her image to overlap with that of the helpless Anthuan child. Enfolding sleep took him off his guard and he was woken not forty-five minutes later, plagued by the all-consuming screech of a Romulan bird of prey circling menacingly overhead in his dreams.

 

He jerked upright in a cold sweat, forcing back a yell. Without really thinking about it he threw himself out of bed and ended up dryly retching over the toilet.

 

XXXX

 

In his plane of semi-consciousness Spock floated amongst muddy clouds which pulsed and sparked beneath his eyelids. Somewhere in the background his body was suspended, two feet behind him and slightly to his left, he felt the dull aching and crackle of its self-healing process.

 

A soft-focus image flickered into his mind and flickered out again. A dimly-lit room. Then the silhouette of a spacecraft ripping through the sky at dusk. He noted his body twitching violently and fuzzing out in the back of his mind.

 

His consciousness pulled him heavily up a layer of his trance. A ringing in his mind morphed into panicked human voices and distant screams of phaser weaponry. Again, behind him his body jumped and twitched - was he still in the midst of the action? Not even possible, he would never have achieved this depth of trance and- no, these were just memories, he was still too shrouded in sleep for it to be real.

 

He rose farther, as if floating to the surface of some thick substance. His physical body pulled closer, the radio static clearing from his aural memories and matching with a picture.

 

He was stumbling over chunks of split concrete, his gaze sweeping the surroundings as he followed the security team. Dust-coated red-shirts flanked a large group of terrified civilians, ushering them under an overhanging arch for shelter and forming a semicircle around them, phasers at the ready. Again he struggled forward, moving towards the group. He could hear his voice calling out, struggling over the dust in his lungs and the terrifying volume of the tumult.

 

“Doctor! Doctor McCoy!”

 

His voice was distant, but he knew that it was not coming from his own body in the memory. It wouldn’t be this distant. Looking around, he spotted a figure running towards him carrying a child - recognising the gait as his own, it was in that moment that he realised that these memories were not his own.

 

He watched himself lower the child to her feet, and she looked up, tears streaming down her face. For stability, she gripped onto the pair of arms thrown out by the person whose memories he was seeing. “My sister! My sister!” she pleaded.

 

“It’s alright.” The voice, clearly recognisable as McCoy’s, was rougher than usual. Feeling the instinct to break away from a mind being intruded upon, Spock tried to force himself awake, to little avail. His present form was numb and wrapped in sleep.

 

“Doctor! Escort her to the others.” McCoy turned and Spock saw himself turning away. The child continued to scream.

 

“They’re coming! My sister…they’re coming!”

 

“Dammit Spock, NO! There’s no t-“

 

He felt a ripple pass through the heavy air and McCoy’s eyes were drawn up to the sky. Dread and terror drenched the human through as a very solid, very real Romulan warship uncloaked and fizzled into view. Distantly, he felt his body try to physically wrench itself away from its convalescence once more.

 

In the memory, the child shrieked and tried to pull away but McCoy’s grip held her fast as he desperately wrenched her towards the shelter like she was a dead-weight. He swung around, and Spock detected frustration and helplessness grip the doctor as he watched himself running back towards the dilapidated building.

 

“Spock, there’s no time! Spock! SPOCK! Shit-!”

 

The doctor’s screams filled his mind and Spock picked out a sharp, sob-like inhale, desperation in the human’s tangle of thoughts.

 

Everything seemed to slow down as he watched the ship’s first phaser blast impacted the ground not ten feet away from him - he watched himself stumble from the shockwave and scramble towards the doorway, where he slipped inside and out of Leonard’s sight. A second phaser blast knocked a chunk out of the wall, spraying debris everywhere.

 

The doctor’s vision blurred as he panted, frozen in panic now. Spock felt the whisper through his mind. I can’t do anything.

 

Don’t do this to me, Spock.

 

An enormous bang filled his ears and the doctor looked up sharply, watching in horror as a missile hit the building and it was flayed apart on impact, the rest collapsing in on itself - just as the memory did the same, with an explosion of intense emotional response.

 

With one final push, Spock wrenched awake.

 

The nausea he was experiencing was clearly from the massive dose of unbridled emotions that had been pumped through him. The inky darkness of the room soaked into his half-impaired vision, but he knew he was not alone. As the numbness of his body washed away, he was aware of the bite of someone’s nails in the back of his hand.

 

Pulling away, he began to sit up, and the silhouetted figure by his bed started to take some blurry shape.

 

“Doctor McCoy?”

 

Even now he could see that the man was slouched and gaunt, his expression haunted. The hand that had gripped his, and that Spock was sure was responsible for the thought transference, hovered between them.

 

Spock waited for a moment, expecting him to respond, but he didn’t. He seemed to be breathing shallowly and unevenly. Aware that something could possibly be wrong, Spock manually reached out to turn up the lights.

 

“Doctor, what ails you? Why are you here?”

 

The second question seemed to snap McCoy out of his paralysis. Spock was stricken by how perturbed he looked - his eyes seeming even more sunken than earlier when he had seen the doctor on duty, the dark rings below them pronounced.

 

McCoy looked ashamed, blinking hard and rubbing his face with his forearm. Spock noticed a shine in his eyes, not of tears, but of something unspoken and threatening to boil over.

 

“I’m sorry, Spock,” Leonard croaked out, and he scrubbed at his eyes, clearing his throat and attempting to steady his voice. “I couldn’t sleep. I didn’t know where to go...I don’t really know what I’m doing...”

 

Spock caught his gaze and the human looked away, his eyes flitting about the small room. He realised that perhaps he had been a little sharp by human standards in his confused grogginess, and had he had less knowledge of human behaviour he would have vocally questioned again why Leonard was there at all.

 

But he knew. It wasn’t necessarily a healthy reason, and he didn’t know if Leonard had intended to project his thoughts or not, given his current state of mind - but Spock knew, and for the sake of his friend’s well-being he also knew that it was not the time to question that reasoning at present. It was not logical, but it was true, as with many matters concerning humans.

 

He extended one hand and placed it on Leonard’s knee with gentle pressure.

 

“She deeply affected you, and I understand why,” he began, opting to broach the subject from an angle. “But she was not Joanna.”

 

“No, she was, Spock. I know it’s crazy, ya don’t have to tell me, but for me, she was.” The distraught man scrubbed at his face. Spock said nothing, just looking through his companion. When Leonard did not continue, he finally chose to prompt him, understanding that whatever he was feeling must be difficult to express.

 

“Go ahead, Doctor. I am listening.”

 

Leonard nodded absently before continuing. “She’s thirteen now, Spock. I’ve barely spent time with her since she was a toddler. Short visits, no more. She always looked so…confused, alienated, not as a daughter should. And it sounds so cruel to say but it’s my fault. Mine. And then when she was eight, and I told her I was going to space for a long time, I remember how hurt she looked. The confusion was there, yes, but it was like it was finally hitting home that she was never going to have the father she’d been promised. No child deserves that deprivation, no child should expect it!”

 

Fatigued anger filled Leonard now, and it sparked out into Spock’s fingertips where he touched the doctor’s leg, even through the fabric. Leonard’s shoulders tensed like he was folding inwards on himself and he choked out a sob before continuing.

 

“So yes, she was Jo, I shouldn’t have gotten so involved, dammit, but she damn well might as well have been Jo because I’d be just as good to my own daughter as I was to her - I run like a coward from everything I love.” He summoned the courage to look at Spock, and the Vulcan’s heart faltered automatically.

 

To him, Leonard’s usually flashing blue eyes were grey in the low light, but they still contained a hint of fire - it was difficult to tell when the doctor was erupting so emotionally. The pain was too familiar and sudden, as though mentioning it after all this time had washed away a dam holding back old memories.

 

“You saw it all, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to drop it on you but-” Leonard continued, “I just stood there, paralysed, when you ran off on your...hare-brained rescue mission!” He prodded at his own head with a finger in reference to his projections from minutes ago.

 

“And when it comes down to it, I ran from Jo too. I don’t deserve her love! I couldn’t even tell my own daughter that I love her!” He choked, and broke eye-contact with Spock, unable to bear it any longer, burying his face in his hands again. “I can barely stomach calling her my daughter, I’m such a joke of a father, the hollow shell of one. And that little girl died down there without a father there, or a mother, choking and having the life crushed out of her by debris and dust-”

 

He was shocked into silence by the feeling of blunt fingertips probing against his forehead. Instinctively, he jerked away, looking towards Spock to see him staring back grimly, his hand poised and positioned for a meld.

 

“What the hell are you doing, Spock. You think you can shut me up or filter out my emotionalism by poking around in my brain?” He half regretted every harsh, thoughtless word he spat as it left his mouth.

 

“No, Doctor. I want to show you.”

 

“What, exactly?!”

 

“Her final moments.”

 

Spock felt the writhing frustration within the human being replaced with confusion and dread. “Spock…I don’t…”

 

“I know that it will not quell your current emotions. But it may give you peace of mind.”

 

Spock spoke so deeply and gently, almost as though they were in that damp, dusty room on the planet’s surface again, a team tending to the needs of an innocent civilian child, and not a pair of emotionally clumsy Starfleet officers in the crisp, sanitary med-bay of the Enterprise.

 

“Your instinct may be to run, despite your distaste for it. Let me be a friend to you, Leonard - the truth is, we have both avoided a connection for too long. Let me prevent you from running. Let me help.”

 

He reached out with his hand again and Leonard swallowed, pausing for one long moment to inspect Spock’s face, before inclining his head towards Spock’s hand in invitation.

 

He did not know what he would see, but he knew the significance of Spock offering to share this and he trusted him. He allowed the image to melt into his mind, almost as though pouring out through the Vulcan’s fingertips as they pressed against his skull. He looked at Spock, seeing that his eyes had fluttered closed, and allowed his own to do the same.

 

Fear not. Open your mind, Leonard, as you used to.

 

The consciousness and sensations that imbued Leonard’s thoughts instantly felt familiar, and the picture being fed to him flared out, encompassing his voluntary thought patterns. Panic reared up in the back of his mind and Spock mentally reached out to suppress it with ease. Settling back and allowing Spock to enter his mind as he needed, he remembered the element of trust that was required for melds, and how terrifying it could be - he had to trust Spock to go only where he needed to go, see only what he needed to see, touch only what he needed to touch, because he himself had no control any more.

 

As Spock probed a little deeper, pulling subtly at his receptors the muffled sounds of chaos kicked in, and the memory spluttered to life for Leonard. Spock’s vision blurred and he coughed as he searched intently for any signs of life in the dark space. Dust pelted down upon him with every impact outside the building as he moved through the tiny rooms.

 

Finally he found her, white as a sheet and barely conscious, crumpled under pieces of split plasterboard. A pang shot through Leonard at the projected image, which eased a little when Spock’s hands reached out to push away the debris and slid underneath the girl’s frail body to lift her.

 

Her eyes opened a sliver, seeing Spock, and a small, croaked moan was all she could manage before he pulled her to his chest and stood.

 

Leonard felt the fragile thrum of her heart beat through him as Spock would have felt it as he rushed to exit the building. Everything seemed to slow as suddenly dust billowed in through the doorways and the shockwave hit almost simultaneously. Spock was instantly deafened by it.

 

He tumbled to the ground, being pelted with rubble. A hunk of something slammed into the side of his head, knocking him near-unconscious and slashing the edge of his eye and across his eyelid. Tinnitus filled his hearing, sharp and unpleasant like the flatlining of an old heart monitor, and it was then he realised that the thrumming of the child’s heart was absent. The shock of the explosion had jarred the life from her.

 

He curled around her body and stumbled towards the doorway, but the world fell in around him before he could reach it.

 

Leonard felt Spock pull away from his mind and sucked in a breath, bracing his hands on his knees. His head swam - he’d forgotten about that part too - as he readjusted to reality and attempted to absorb what he had been shown.

 

She was dead in your arms, Spock.

 

He remembered the words he’d said to Spock when he’d just woken from his injuries. But Spock already knew - she’d died in his arms.

 

She was safe. Protected. And you knew…

 

Leonard looked over at Spock, who was breathing deeply, his linked fingers pressed to his mouth, regarding the blank ceiling with his stare.

 

“No parent should have to witness the death of their child,” Spock said to the silent room. “But then, nor should any parent continue to believe that their child suffered when they did not.”

 

Spock did not look look towards him, but nevertheless Leonard knew the words were for him. As painfully cryptic and illogical he knew they must have been for the Vulcan to say, the intent they carried filled him with pride and affection for his former lover.

 

“Spock…” He automatically reached out his hand, brushing his fingertips against the Vulcan’s knuckles. Spock shuddered and he cast his eyes over Leonard, finally seeing the tender look on his face.

 

Spock’s eyes softened and he didn’t try to pull away, so Leonard resumed his caresses, sliding over Spock’s lips and trailing across his cheek.

 

“Leonard…” he finally muttered, placing his hand over the human’s and curling their fingers together. “I am...our continued mutual affection is undeniable, especially in light of these events and the nature of near-death experiences, the effects of which impact human and Vulcan alike. Shamefully, I have hungered for you, but you know that we cannot. Cast back your memory - the intensity of a Vulcan bond is not something that you are able to-”

 

“I know Spock, shh, I know. But I nearly lost you, and dammit, I care about you.” Trembling slightly, he cupped his free hand over Spock’s and brought it to his lips. Spock gasped silently as the silky, dry skin skimmed over his knuckles, hot breaths puffing out across them. “Let yourself have this, there’s no shame in it. Let us have this, you can see that I want it, right? Just for the moment. Please…”

 

Spock pulled his hand away, regarding Leonard analytically and wetting his lips with the tip of his tongue. His eyes flickering from lips to eyes once more, he made his decision and leaned in, tilting his head invitingly and cupping one rough, unkempt jawbone in his palm.

 

The kiss began chastely, a frustrating stroking of lips upon lips. Bones slipped his hand around to cradle the back of Spock’s head, pulling him in and rubbing their noses together, and he could sense Spock’s caged desire in the hitching of his breath..

 

“It’s okay, Spock. I’m okay. Don’t worry. Please don’t hold back…let yourself have this,” Leonard whispered.

 

Spock’s lips merged with his then, his entire mouth fused with his, drinking from him. They reclined back upon the narrow bed, Leonard falling upon the Vulcan, embracing and running fingers over skin and under clothes, their legs entwining but their bodies fading away and the centre of all that they were zeroing in on their kisses.

 

Maybe…maybe I could love you. Maybe I could try. Maybe this time I won’t run from you.

 

Lazily kissing down the human’s neck, Spock distantly registered Leonard’s projection. They nuzzled together as the light faded again in the room, comfortable enough in their temporary solace to be together and forget.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> As you may have deduced, in this particular scenario Spock and Bones are old flames and they broke it off for one reason or another. It’s easy enough to imagine that Spock could not fulfil Leonard’s emotional needs, but in this I wanted to explore Leonard’s personal brand of emotional reticence. I wonder if he may have backed away from the mental intimacy of a Vulcan relationship. I think in some ways Spock and Bones could share many of the same demons but not see it.
> 
> THANK YOU VERY MUCH TO THESE FOLKS OVER ON TUMBLR:
> 
> -tavallisethautajaiset, who originally sent a prompt for hurt/comfort Spones like a million years ago I think!! I finally wrote it, and it became a bit more in depth than I expected, so thank you for prompting me to do it!
> 
> -0ldlace - for your intricate beta-ing skills and sharing your thoughts, you were an enormous help!!
> 
> -sleepymccoy and boomdeyadah - for showering me with encouragement and giving me feedback, and generally just supporting me always!
> 
> \- ample-nacells - for giving me further feedback and insight and suggestions which were a huge help
> 
> All of you, thank you for urging me to make my writing better <33
> 
> -You for reading! Thank you~
> 
> I always appreciate feedback, so please don't be too shy to leave me a note here, big or small. I love to write no matter what but hearing that others appreciate reading it makes it extra worth my while.
> 
> If email is your preference, I am celestialomelette@gmail.com or I'm on tumblr under the same username.
> 
> Until next fic, Spones or otherwise!


End file.
